I turned back to keep an eye on the big ugly thing, which was now rocking a little from side to side, looking at him.
The guy with the cat muttered under his breath, and the thing howled and jumped, then turned and ran. It ran off toward the fountain, splashed through it, and continued on.
“That was witchcraft,” I said.
He bowed. I let the dog sniff my hand, after which it curled up at the guy’s feet.
“I’m Laszló,” he said.
“Vlad.”
“Actually, you’re Taltos, Count of Szurke.”
“You’re well informed. And it’s Teldra.”
“What?”
“Not Godslayer. Lady Teldra.”
“All right.”
“Who are your friends?”
“Awtlá, and Sireng,” he said, indicating the dog and the cat.
“Laszló,” I repeated. “Wait, I’ve heard of you. You’re—” I stopped, because I didn’t think “the Easterner who’s buffing skin with the Empress” would be politic. “Around the court,” I managed.
He bowed again. “Official unofficial Imperial warlock,” he said.
“Okay, then, here’s the big one. What are you doing in the Halls of Judgment?”
“Rescuing you,” he said.
“Oh, good then. That answers everything.”
He chuckled. “Do you think it’s our human blood that makes us answer everything ironically?”
“Fenarian,” I said. “Ever tried to exchange banter with a Muskovan?”
He nodded. “Good point.”
“How many generations?”
“How—oh. I see. I was born there.”
“Really? You’ve managed the Northwestern speech pretty good.”
“I’ve been here a long time. I’m older than I look.”
I looked around again. There was no sign of Discaru, or the-thing-that-was-Discaru.
“What was that thing, anyway?”
“A demon,” he said.
I rolled my eyes. “I know it was a demon. What kind of demon?”
“Oh. No idea. Does it matter?”
“Well, it’s part of figuring out what it was doing there, what it was doing here, what I was doing there, what I am doing here, and all like that. I don’t suppose you know anything that might help?”
“What is ‘there?’”
“A place west of Adrilankha called Precipice Manor.”
“Sorry, no.”
“All right.”
I walked over to a bench and sat down, facing away from the water. Laszló came along, sat down next to me. The dog came too, put his paws over the edge and drank noisily, then curled up on the ground at our feet.
“So,” I said. “Rescue.”
“Yeah.”
“Fill me in a bit?”
“You have friends who keep track of you.”
“Do I have to guess which friends?”
“No.”
I waited, then, “Are you going to tell me?”
“No.”
I glanced at the Phoenix emblem. “Her Majesty. Of course.”
He smiled. “I never said so.”
“I wouldn’t have called her a friend.”
“No,” he said. “That would be impertinent.”
“Yeah,” I said. “And I’m all about being pertinent.”
“I don’t think that’s what that means.”
“If it were the Empress,” I said, “how would she have known I needed rescuing?”
“There are certain things the Orb is sensitive to. A Great Weapon passing through a necromantic gate to the Halls of Judgment is one of them. Hypothetically.”
“I see.”
Loiosh, having considered the matter long and thoughtfully, made up his mind and hissed at the cat. The cat looked up, yawned, then closed its eyes again.
“What was that?”
“‘Hello.’”
“Okay,” I said aloud. “Uh, no one should be able to keep track of me.”
“Because?”
“This,” I said, tapping the amulet.
He leaned over and studied it. “Oh, yes, I see. Black and gold. Well, maybe it doesn’t work in the Halls of Judgment? I’m not an expert.”
“On Phoenix Stone, or the Halls?”
“Either, really.”
“But you know something about Great Weapons.”
He nodded and didn’t elaborate.
“So, what now?”
“Hmmm?”
“Well, I’m sort of in the Paths of the Dead, in the Halls of Judgment no less. Last time I was here—”
“Last time?”
“Long story. Last time, I was told not to come back. So, if this is a rescue, how do you plan to get me out of here?”
“Oh, right. That.”
“That.”
“I’m not sure.”
“Well, how do you get out?”
“Connections. I have a standing invitation, and that includes the right to leave.”
“Can you bring a guest?”
“Sorry.”
I stretched out my legs. “Well, isn’t this a joy.”
“If I might make a suggestion?”
“Sure.”
“The demon should be able to return you.”
“The demon you chased away? That one?”
“Yes, that one.”
“Perfect.”
He reached down and petted the dog between the ears. It wagged its tail. The cat jumped down from his lap. Lazsló put a hand under the dog’s chin, looked into its eyes, and muttered something too quiet for me to hear, though from the rhythm I guessed it to be Fenarian. The dog stood up, sniffed the ground, and padded off. The cat ran off after it.
“Good nose on that dog?”
He nodded.
“What will he do when he finds it?”
“I guess we’ll see.”
He sounded like me. I considered hating him.
He reached into his cloak and came out with a small cloth bag. He opened it and extended it. “Sweetmeat?”
I took one and ate it. “Not bad.”
“Apricot.”
I nodded.
“So now you don’t hate him?”
“It isn’t like I’d already made a final decision or anything.”
“If you give me some of the next one, I won’t hate the cat.”
“I’ll take it under advisement.”
“So, Awtlá, and, what was the cat’s name?”
“Sireng.”
“Yeah. They’re familiars?”
He nodded.
“Two familiars,” I said.
He nodded again.
“Didn’t know that was possible.”
“Boss—”
“Don’t worry about it, Loiosh.”
“Easy for you to say.”
Rocza flapped her wings on my other shoulder.
Laszló didn’t reply except by some sort of motion that could have meant anything.
Purple Robes and other “souls,” I’d guess you’d say, wandered by. I kept wanting to look at the fountain, but then I remembered, and didn’t. We waited, and I came up with more questions he wouldn’t answer, like “Is it true about you and Her Majesty,” so I didn’t bother asking them.